


best laid plans

by fadewords



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: (....actually also y'know what fuck it), (also self-destructive tendencies a lil bit), (iiiiish? think like. self-injurious stimming), (oh right also i imagine this like. juuus before the suffering game), Autistic Magnus Burnsides, Autistic Taako, Emetophobia, Food, Magnus Burnsides Has ADHD, Merle Highchurch Has ADHD, OH RIGHT uh, Self-Harm, cos there Are i think some references to these hcs here so WHy Not, like there's no Actual happenings but certain words are used? so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 13:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15752982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadewords/pseuds/fadewords
Summary: taako's been training his ass off, which is fine--but his plans keep going awry because of it. (which is, y'know, Also Fine, until it isn't.)(or, taako adventurezone and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.)





	best laid plans

Taako dodges a blast and lifts the umbra staff to fire off an infinitely cooler one of his own and wonders what, exactly, has crawled up the Director’s ass and died.

She’s been pushing them for ages. Grueling training session after grueling training session, no days off, hardly any free time to speak of, et cetera, et cetera, and like, for sure Taako’s absolutely _killing it_ (he’s a badass flip wizard, he’s _always_ killing it, he was _born_ killing it), so it’s, like, whatever. It’s not hard.

It’s just getting fucking _boring_ , is the thing.

Every day, the same old nonsense. Avoid getting hit, cast some gnarly spells, start to run out of spell slots, get creative, finally finish the training session, do whatever, maybe see Krav again, maybe sleep, maybe wander—rinse, repeat.

And like, you know, don’t get him wrong, he likes a fight as much as the next guy, and the routine ain’t bad, and for _sure_ he loves the money, it’s just—it’s _boring_. Taako has better things to do with his time (and his spell slots) than train all day every day. Places to go, people to inspire, things to cook, you know how it is.

(He tries to dodge another blow, just barely manages it, scowls, fires back on autopilot.)

So just—would it _kill_ her Directorness to lay off for a day, or at least mix things up a bit? Increase the difficulty sharply, maybe, instead of this incremental bullshit, or throw in a new variable, or, hell, let them _really_ go all-out—just, _something_ , you know?

Because this—this is getting pretty fucking tired.

Taako is getting pretty fucking tired.

Tired enough that he doesn’t bother dodging the next blow all the way, just absorbs it and bares his teeth in a grin before Magic Missle-ing the fuck out of the arena’s floor, which explodes into a slurry of rubble and dust.

Nice.

When it clears, of course, his opponents aren’t dead (he’s pretty sure he won’t get paid if they’re dead), but they’re not all _suuuper_ conscious either, so like, hey, that’s a win, yeah?

He turns and waves lazily up at the Director (she doesn’t always watch, but she’s been keeping a close eye today), who nods curtly, the corners of her mouth tugging up, and points to the remaining Bureau employees.

He rolls his eyes and turns back to the rest of the day’s canon fodder. Whatever. Shouldn’t take long to wipe them out, and maybe once he has she’ll let them go, and then he can get to the one high point in the day—his date with Kravitz.

-

He’s wrong on both counts, as it turns out.

The stragglers take, he’s pretty sure, another half _hour_ to call it quits, and once they have and Merle’s gone over and healed them (which, you know, might have been useful _during_ the fight, but whatever, it’s not like Taako had needed healing anyway), the Director sets up another mock fight.

Taako grits his teeth until they hurt, but throws himself into the second fight with all the ferocity of the first, and half the fucks.

Cause, honestly, he’s running out at this point. Like, if she’s going to make it this fucking _boring_ , if she’s going to make him miss his _date_ —who gives a shit, you know?

So maybe he’s a little sharper than usual. Maybe a little more cocky. Maybe, towards the end, starts playing a game, seeing just how _close_ he can let the sharp-and-pointies and big-and-flashies get before he dodges them, just for the hell of it, for the change of pace, the sweet sweet rush.

(Maybe he doesn’t dodge so great, the last few times. Maybe he gets a little bloodied on one arm.)

(Whatever. It’s fuckin _worth_ it. And, hey, sick battle scars to show Krav later, fuckin _nice_.)

He waves up at the Director again, when the fight’s over, and this time she doesn’t make any face when she nods. Just looks at him, flat, in a way that makes his shoulders itch, and then dips her head and clasps her hands together and dismisses them without so much as a _well done, boys_.

( _Seriously_ , he wonders. _What the_ hell’s  _crawled up her ass?_ )

But whatever. Whatever. Not his problem, not now training’s over.

It’s Taako time now.

So he stretches lazily, flicks a speck of floor off of his skirt (which, he’s gonna have to mend it later, it’s got a bit, uh, shredded in the fight), and makes for the exit.

"Hey, wait!”

Taako doesn’t bother turning round. "Nope.”

Heavy footfalls as Merle follows, half-jogging. "Lemme heal you.”

"Nah.”

"You’re bleeding,” he protests.

"Fantasy ketchup, my dude.” He’s had worse, and it’s clotting already, and, frankly, Merle’s a fucking shitty healer anyway. And he’s late for his date, so.

“Taako—”

"For fuck’s sake.” He uses his second-to-last spell slot to blink away. He doesn’t have time for this.

Ideally he’d pop back in on the other side of the exit, but magic’s a dick, so he doesn’t get that far and winds up still in Merle’s line of sight. But it’s chill—as predicted, he’s already given up and headed over to Magnus instead.

Taako grins and heads for the launch room.

Date time.

-

The bubble lands a fair distance out of town, so Taako walks the rest of the way the festival.

As he does, he uses his very last spell slot to toss up a glamour, cause while he can and _does_ absolutely rock the half-shredded skirt look, he’s _also_ sorta covered in floor-dust and grime, a little bit, and it’s sorta throwin off his whole ensemble and that just ain’t gonna fly.

(There’s an old scarf, he thinks vaguely, that’s got a bit worn round the edges. S’in a drawer somewhere. He can dig it out, use it for patches. Extra splash of color.)

—And there’s the festival.

He strides in, already planning several disparaging comments about the snacks they’ll pick up (he’s heard good things, but uh, he’ll believe it when he tastes it), and a promise to show Kravitz a _much_ better culinary time than this at a to-be-determined date.

It’s only as he scans the bustling crowd that it occurs to him—maybe Kravitz won’t be here. Maybe he’ll have assumed Taako stood him up and just...left already.

Taako grips the umbra staff hard, scans faster, curses the Director and Kravitz both—but no, there he is, leaning against a tree and watching a load of children fling colored powders in the air, and Taako relaxes and stores the rest of the curse away for later (it was a good one, and far be it from him to waste such magnificence).

He saunters over and kisses his cheek. "Hey babe. Sorry I'm late.”

It’s true, even. Well, true-ish. (He’s not happy about being this late, wasn’t part of the plan—but it doesn’t really matter, since Krav’s still here after all, and anyway it wasn’t his fault in the _first_ place.) But whatever, not the point. It’s just something you say.

"Oh, it’s, uh, it’s fine,” Kravitz says, turning to him with a smile so warm his eyes go all crinkly at the corners. "I was a little late myself.”

That’s a lie, and Taako knows it, and he’s pretty sure Kravitz knows he knows it. But whatever, if that’s how he wants to play it for whatever dumbfuck reason, Taako’s not about to stop him. "Cool cool.”

"Training?” Kravitz asks, nodding at his arm (because Taako hadn’t bothered slipping the cut under the glamour, just the grime).

"Mm? Oh, yeah,” Taako says, resisting the urge to yawn. Then, because he can, because it’s _there_ (and also because Kravitz looks, unexpectedly, sort of drippingly _concerned_ , ugh), "Y’should see the other guy.”

“Merle out of spell slots again?”

"Forgot he could _heal_ again, more like.” The lie slips from his tongue easy as butter from a skillet. "Whatever. S’no big.” After an appropriate pause, but not one so long Kravitz can badger him any further, Taako nudges him. "So. What’re we doin first?”

Kravitz eyes the cut a second longer, but lets it drop. "Uh,” he says. "Well. I've had a look around, and I hear there’s a light show soon. D’you think—?”

"Hell yeah, rad, let’s go.”

-

The light show is, in fact, pretty rad.

They sit a little ways away from the crowd, in the dirt, and watch the sky as colors explode everywhere. Some of the bursts are magical, but others are just straight-up explosives, and Taako has fun guessing which ones’re which. (He’s right more often than not.)

Kravitz laughs, and sometimes chimes in, but mostly he just watches the sky.

At one point, he glances over. "Can you do that?”

"Oh hell yeah babe, check it.” Taako lifts the umbra staff, prepared to cast a modified _Fireball_ at a low enough slot that it won't, like, murder anyone (certain aspects of murder _can_ be romantic, Taako maintains, under certain circumstances, but the smell of burning flesh is, uh, decidedly not one of them; super grody)—when he realizes that, actually, he can’t. "Aw, fuck,” he says. "Okay, listen, I can do it in _theory_ , but uh, I'm sorta out of spell slots here, so…”

"That’s alright,” Kravitz says. "You’ll just have to show me next time.”

"Yeah, for sure,” Taako says, as his brain repeats _next time next time next time_. "I’ll make a little note, stick it on the mirror. Y’know, don’t forget to dazzle Krav!”

Kravitz laughs, and leans briefly into Taako’s arm, glancing at him questioningly. for a moment Taako wonders why—and then rolls his eyes and leans heavily against Kravitz.

(Honestly, you jerk away from an ill-placed hand _one_ time…. Just because he’s not a huge fan of people brushing against the small of his back with _chilly-ass fingers_ doesn’t mean he’s like, _totally_ against physical affection as a concept.) (Fuck, he _loves_ it. Like, bring on the cuddle times, for real, just follow the goddamn rules.)

(He ignores the fact that he's not actually explained there are rules to Kravitz yet, much less what they are, and the fact that sometimes the rules change, and sometimes there’s a rule that says Taako has to make the first move.) (None of that's important.) (Important is that this is comfy as _hell_ and Taako’s never moving.)

Kravitz looks surprised, then gratified, and then turns back to the show as another blast streaks red and purple across the sky.

After another series of blasts—including a rather _spectacular_ explosion that looks kinda like a dragon and fizzles out into green-blue sparks, which Kravitz says must be magic but Taako _swears_ up and down is good old-fashioned pyrotechnics—Kravitz presses an almost absentminded kiss to the top of Taako’s head. Which. On the one hand, what a loser-ass nerd. But on the other—

Taako hums contentedly.

Cool as _shit_.

Finally, after what must be at _least_ half an hour, the light show ends in a huge spectacle of explosions that has Taako pulling the flexible brim of his hat down over his ears a little bit, because, uh, fucking _loud_ (even _Kravitz_ is wincing—if _death himself_ is wincing, Taako decides, you know it’s bad).

Fucking worth it, though. It’s some of the coolest shit he’s ever seen (and Taako’s seen a lot of shit).

To cap it all, when the noise finally dies off, there’s a low-level crackling sort of fizzle, and then a noise like sand, and then a fine powder rains down on the crowd, all different colors, and no one starts, like, wheezing, or breaking out in hives, or crying cause it got in their eyes or anything, so Taako’s pretty sure this one’s magic, and—

Fucking gorgeous, besides.

Kravitz now has a shimmer of gold on his forehead, a faint dusting of blue on his cheek, and some silvery gray on his hand, all vibrant as hell against his dark skin.

Taako’s pretty sure his own face’s been mostly spared, what with the hat and all, but his hands, when he pulls them down, are dusted red and purple. He grins, then wiggles his fingers at Kravitz, who laughs, and Taako. Taako wants to kiss him.

So he does, right on the blue, and then pulls Kravitz to his feet. "C’mon,” he says. "Let’s grab some shitty festival food.”

-

The festival food is, in fact, shitty (taste-wise, it’s pretty much garbage—like, it’s _trying_ to not to be, but in the same way that Magnus _tries_ not to cry about cute puppies—which is to say, noticeably, tangibly, and without an ounce of success).

He eats it anyway, though.

If Kravitz notices how truly appalling the fried nonsense is, he doesn’t say so, being either too polite or not nearly discerning enough. (Taako has a horrible feeling it’s both.)

But he also has no such flaws himself, so he openly criticizes the snack as they wander the festival. In between disparaging comments, he admires the colors of Kravitz’s suit (itself originally a deep, warm purple that makes Taako think of plum jam, now dusted with vibrant yellow and red on the shoulders, and silvery-blue down the front, with faint smatterings of other colors scattered about). (He admires the fit, too—the tailoring, which he notes is expert, and the way it looks on him in general, which is, uh, fucking amazing.)

Taako’s in the middle of thinking as much—though out loud suggesting ways he might improve the fried whatevers they’re having—when, abruptly, Kravitz stops walking.

Stiffens. Drops Taako’s hand, curses, and summons his scythe. "I’m—I’m really sorry, babe, but it’s work, there’s an emergency, I—”

"Eh, no worries.” Taako waves a hand to shut him up, and stamps down on the urge to flip off the Raven Queen, because she’s cool, and he likes her. Just because she’s interrupted his date—

She’s cool. And she’s a god, anyway. Probably has a sixth sense for when people flip her off. Probably part of the whole _deal_.

And anyway, Kravitz’d probably get upset, and Taako’s in no mood to deal with _that_. (Not that he’s in, like, a bad mood, really, he’s chill, it’s been a good evening, at least since he got here—but like, he’s never in the mood to deal with other people getting all fuckin—drippy. Emotional water faucets, all leaky and gross. Not Taako’s bag.)

So he doesn’t flip her off, just gives Kravitz a peck on the cheek and brandishes the remains of his fried whatever and says, "Shit sucks anyway. I'll make you somethin better next time, hey?”

"You’ll—?”

"Mhm,” he says, though he didn’t actually...mean to say that second part, exactly. Like, for sure, suggesting a homecooked-dinner date had been part of the plan, but like—the scheduling was supposed to be nebulous. Not, uh, anything so concrete as _next time_ , but too late now, it’s slipped out, and he’s said it, and fuck if he’s gonna back out (Krav’d only wonder why and, uh, _fuck_ that). So instead he smiles, kisses Kravitz again, this time on the lips, and says, "See you then.”

"I—yeah,” Kravitz says, a little dazed, the fucking dweeb. "See you.”

And then he tosses the remains of his fried whatsit in the trash and makes a rift and steps through and he’s gone, and Taako’s left standing there alone holding his _own_ fried whatsit, and feeling suddenly, abruptly, every single damn ounce of soreness from _both_ mock battles.

Fucking annoying, that.

He stares at the fried whatsit for a long moment. He’s not remotely hungry anymore, and he’s lowkey irritated as _shit_ besides because this is _super_ not how his night was supposed to end—or, fucking, go at all really, he was _supposed_ to be on time, they were _supposed_ to visit some booths, wander round longer, have a really bangin good-night kiss, but the stupid surprise extension on the training session and the stupid Director and Raven Queen and—

Ugh.

So he’s not hungry.

But he scowls and eats the damn fried thing anyway, cause like, yeah, it’s twelve kindsa culinary crime, for sure, but it’s still _food_ and it’s made and paid for and _there_ , so.

He finishes it off without really tasting it, then heads back the way he came, to the outskirts of the town and further. And he calls up a bubble and zooms back to the moon.

-

After landing, there's a solid couple minutes where Taako just chills in the bubble, inspects his fingernails.

Then he gets out (which, uh, ouch, sore), and wanders off to do shit. Contemplates whatall he can do.

Cook, maybe. Fix his skirt. Take, ooh, take a bath, big ol luxurious one, maybe with a couple Fantasy Bath Bombs, even, clear off the floordust and grime hidden under the glamour, melt away those post-training ouchies. Hell yeah, sounds _baller_.

…But then he'll have to wash off the cool-ass powder, and he’s not really about that, just yet. It looks great as shit, accentuates the natural beauty that is Taako, and washing it off so soon—well, that'd be an awful waste, wouldn't it?

So that leaves cooking and sewing. He's full, though, and nothing's, like, calling to him, so really that just leaves sewing, which, sure, why the hell not.

He heads to the dorm, pulls out his kit, and goes in search of the old scarf.

Can’t find it. What the hell.

Goes through all his things again. Still can’t find it. (What the _hell_.) Goes through Magnus’s, and then Merle’s, and then spots it, finally, wound round the bottom of a rather droopy potted plant and covered in mysterious sticky patches. (What the _fresh_ _fuck_.)

Taako stares at it, mouth agape, for several seconds.

Then he scowls. He’s going to kill Merle later, probably. Or at least do somethin _super_ petty. Gotta even the score, y’know. (He’s not sure exactly how he’s gonna do it, just yet, but that’s not really important. That’s a problem for future Taako.)

(Maybe he’ll just steal one of Merle’s shirts to fix his skirt. Or maybe he’ll transmute one of his favorite plants into ingredients for a real nice dinner. Or maybe he’ll cast a silencing charm on him with his highest-level spell slot. Or maybe he’ll do something else entirely. Who knows. Who cares. Not Taako, not yet.)

For now—

He abandons the scarf (it's sticky, he's not about that) and heads to the kitchen.

He can still cook, yeah? (When all else fails, he can always cook.)

Looks through the shelves, tugging idly on his braid. (What to make, what to make…)

(Something light, probably. Still not hungry. How bout a pastry? Lil puff pastry? Lil bitta lemon filling? Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.)

He pulls out all the ingredients systematically, easily, soreness slipping from his limbs with every step—and then stops. He doesn't actually have any lemons, just a grapefruit. Which, y’know, wouldn't normally be a problem, but he's out of _fucking_ spell slots.

He stares at the spread in front of him—flour, butter, sugar, powdered sugar, baking powder, a grapefruit—and tugs his braid.

There's more things to pull out, tweaks he knows he can make, it doesn't _have_ to be a lemon pastry, after all, he can easily—

He tugs his braid again, sharply.

He can easily make something _else_ , something just a little different. Eas—easily, easy-peasy, can do it with his eyes closed. (Of course he can, he's Taako—you know, from TV? Of _course_ he can.)

He just. Doesn't _want_ to, is the thing. (Another tug.)

He wants a fucking lemon pastry. ( _An_ _other_ tug.)

Just a simple fucking— (Another, and then footsteps and chatter approaching the door.)

(Fucking hell.)

Taako seethes for three solid seconds, and then starts packing up the ingredients, heart thudding away in his chest. This one there, that one there, and this up on the top shelf, and the stupid grapefruit shoved in the stupid basket and his fingers pointedly disentangled from his hair and—

"Ooh, are you cooking?” Magnus, wide-eyed and grinning.

"Oh yeah,” Taako says, rolling his eyes, slamming a cabinet closed, taking cold satisfaction in the way the sound makes his ears ring. "Yeah, that's why I'm putting everything up. Because I'm cooking, yeah, you got me.”

"Cool!” Magnus says. "So what's—” He pauses. "Oh. Sarcasm?”

"Sarcasm,” Merle agrees, half sing-song. "But—” He waves at Taako. "Why not? Y’should! For us! Make somethin—make somethin _cool_.”

Everything Taako makes is cool, thank you very much. He's _physically_ _incapable_ of making anything uncool. (Arsenic notwithstanding, because, y’know, not _his_ fault. That was a—that was a collab dish. Zero responsibility on those.)

Taako ignores him, shoves the last couple ingredients back in their places (if he uses maybe a little more force than necessary—well, what of it, it's not like he's ever bothered hiding his annoyance with anyone anyway).

Magnus lights up. "Yeah! C’mon, pleeease? M’starvin here!”

"Then starve, m’dude. No skin off my nose,” Taako says, and pointedly doesn't think of caravans or lean winter days or twenty-seven distinct variations on the same basic stew.

(He does think of half a fried whatsit thrown in the garbage, for a moment, before he chucks the thought far away because uh, who cares. Who cares. Everyone throws shit away, even Taako, sometimes.) (Just not—not without _thinking_ about it.)

He thinks, instead, of fireworks. (For a moment something in his chest loosens, but then it seizes right back up again.)

"Ouch,” Magnus says good-naturedly. "Fine, I'll make somethin myself.”

He'll set fire to the kitchen and probably kill himself, is what he'll do. Ordinarily, Taako would take over for his kitchen’s sake, and so he doesn’t have to be subjected to the sight of whatever monstrosity Magnus sees fit to consider food, but today he doesn't care.

"Yeah, have fun with that,” he says, and heads to the bathroom (a bath, he can still take a bath), And locks the door and leans against it and tugs on his braid one more time, hard.

Does it again, because once wasn't enough, because—because—

He makes a small, frustrated sound, then shuts himself up with a third sharp yank and sinks down to a crouch, back still pressed to the door, and closes his eyes.

Wants, abruptly, to be back in the training session, flinging spells and shitty left hooks and blowing up the godsdamn floor. (Blowing up the godsdamn floor sounds really fucking nice right now.)

(So does taking a hit, actually, but like, what’s he gonna do, ask Magnus to sock him? No. Weird. Weird and Magnus would grin and say _kinky_ , and like, sure, yeah, valid as hell, and Taako’d say the same if the situation were reversed, probably—but the thing is Taako’s super not in the mood.)

(He’s also super not in the mood for getting up or leaving the room or talking, just punching and blowing things up and—)

He tugs at his braid, chews his lip, resists the urge to throw something. This is stupid, this is _stupid_ , there’s no reason to be so—so—all because of a _pastry_.

He was gonna take a _bath_ , not—

Someone tries the door handle.

"Fuck off,” he snaps, eyes opening. (Good thing he locked it, jeezy creezy, did no one ever teach the idiot to _knock_?) "Ocupado here.”

"Uh,” Magnus says. "Sorry, I'll—”

Taako ignores the apology, yanks at his hair. "Fuck _off_ ,” he says again. Wants to add more, but the insults get stuck in his throat, and, y’know what, _fuck off_ about sums it up, so it’s just as well.

Silence, then— "Are you.” Magnus pauses. "Are you okay?”

Oh, _fuck_ no. Taako’s not doing this. This kind of fucking—feelings bullshit. _Fuck_ no. "Fuck _off_ ,” he says again. Then, with effort, “Taako’s _great_ in here. Bath time, baby.”

“...It’s been twenty minutes,” Magnus says. "I haven’t heard any water.”

Okay, it _deffo_ hasn’t, that’s _bullshit_. And (less effort)— "You’ve been _listening_? Uh, _weird_ , my dude. Go away.”

"You’re dodging the question,” Magnus says.

"And you’re being _creepy_.” (Even less effort, the words spill out like soup from a cracked pot.) "Now fuck off and get back to burning down my kitchen, or carving another shitty-ass duck, or crying over dead folks, or whatever other dumb shit you do when I'm not around.”

Like a true asshole, Magnus doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t fire back. Just makes a small, disgustingly distressed sound and says, "Seriously, Taako, what’s wrong?”

 _Ugh_. "Everything’s peachy, my dude.” And it is. Like. He deffo wants to blow up the entire bathroom with himself inside to escape this fucking conversation, but that’s, like, normal. Feelings are gross as hell, and _fuck_ Magnus for assuming he even has them, much less wants to _talk_ about them. "Now _leave_. Tryna have a little Taako-time in here.”

“...Right,” Magnus says. "Well. Okay then. I'm just gonna...go now, I guess. But I'll be here. Shout if you need me.”

"Why the fuck would I do that,” Taako says.

And Magnus leaves, and Taako wishes more than anything that he had one last spell slot so he could mage-hand Magnus the bird. But of course he _doesn’t_ , so that’s out, so he settles for doing it the old-fashioned way. Sure, Magnus won’t see it, but _gods_ is it satisfying.

Then he drops his hand back down and thonks his head back against the door, sharply. He’s still—still—

He tangles his fingers in his braid and pulls for a long, long moment, until he stops wanting to fucking scream, and then relaxes his fingers and just. Leaves them there. And closes his eyes. And breathes.

(Tries not to cry like he suddenly wants to. Bites his lip _hard_ to keep quiet.)

(Breathes more. More. Eventually, gets hold of himself.)

When he opens his eyes again, they feel heavy. When he stands, he feels heavy. And twice as sore as he had when he’d climbed out of the bubble.

Bubble. Bubbles. Bath. He came in here for a bath. Not a fucking—fucking. _That_.

A bath.

He can do a bath.

Taako disentangles his fingers from his hair, turns on the water, fills up the tub. Shuts off the water. Stares at it.

Turns to the cupboard, avoiding the mirror. Grabs a couple Fantasy Bath Bombs (one isn’t his, it’s in a little box marked MAGNUS in blocky caps, but he takes it anyway), and drops them in.

Strips. Places his hat by the door, notes vaguely that it’s streaked with three different shades of red powder, and one blue, the same blue from Krav’s cheek, or near enough.

He almost smiles.

Then turns back to the bath, clambers in. Sinks down so his nose skims the surface of the water. (Stings a little. Taako takes a moment, focuses, determines his _arm_ stings and why is that and—oh right, training, and he dismisses it again.) And sits.

And sits.

And sits.

And finally ducks below, washes his hair.

Surfaces. Sits. Breathes.

Realizes the water’s going cold. Sits.

Shivers a little. Sits.

Shivers a lot. Sits.

Ducks under one more time, then surfaces, then gets out and grabs a towel off the rack and wraps it round himself and sits.

Should get dressed. Should really—

But he didn’t bring new clothes. He was in such a rush to bathe (to get out of there, to _do_ something, to salvage the start-and-stop day), he forgot to bring new clothes.

So all he has are his old ones, all grimy and torn and. Taako’s not putting those back on. Like, he could. Has done before. Will do again, he’s sure.

But like. He doesn’t have to, today. So he doesn’t want to.

So he stands (still a little sore, but less, less), and gathers the clothes (he’d leave them, but he doesn’t want Merle to pick them up and wrap them round another potted plant like they’re scrap, so), and keeps the towel wrapped round himself, and unlocks the door and slips out and to the bedroom, where, by a miracle, the others aren’t waiting.

He chucks the dirty clothes in a hamper, finds clean ones. (Loose trousers, dark gray, with a green patch on the knee, and a floral shirt, and a less-tattered scarf.) Puts them on. Dons his hat.

Crawls in his sleepy sack. Doesn’t sleep.

Gets up, after a while, for a drink. Something warm would be nice. Or alcoholic. Maybe both. Assuming the kitchen’s not burned down.

-

It isn’t. Amazing. Doubly so because Magnus is still sitting in it, sipping from a mug.

He looks up as Taako approaches. "Hey,” he says.

Taako ignores him. Opens a cabinet.

"I’ve made tea,” he says. "If you want some.”

Taako pauses. Eyes him suspiciously, but he doesn’t _look_ like he wants to talk feelings, so Taako considers. _Does_ he want tea?

Well. He isn’t sure if he’d have made it, left to his own devices, didn’t really have a plan, just the vague thought warm-and-maybe-some-booze-in, but like, tea’s warm, and it’s all lime gogurt anyway, so what the hell. Saves him figuring out what to make, and the effort of making it.

He makes a gimme motion. Magnus gets up, takes a mug from a corner of the kitchen Taako hadn’t noticed, and hands it to him.

"Here.”

"Mmph,” Taako says.

"Course,” Magnus says, even though Taako emphatically _did not_ say thanks, he said _mmph_ , thank you very much.

Taako ignores him. Sniffs it. Smells good. Oolong, he thinks. Then takes a sip. Warm gogurt. Good as anything, he guesses. “...Mmph.”

"I know,” Magnus says. "I’m the best at tea.”

Taako snorts.

“...Second-best?” Magnus grins.

Taako shrugs. Not like he can really judge.

For a moment Magnus looks confused, expectant. Then— "Oh, shit,” he says. "Your gogurt thing. Is this—ew, is it just, like, hot gogurt? Just straight-up gogurt hot springs in your mouth?”

Taako cracks a grin. "Kiiiiinda?”

" _Gross._ ”

"Nah, it’s pretty good actually.”

"Gross,” Magnus says again. Then, "What, really?”

"Hell yeah.”

“...Gross.”

Taako shrugs. "M’used to it.” _I_ _like gogurt_ , he doesn’t say. (If he didn’t, he’d still be trying to break the spell.)

"Oh,” Magnus says. "Right, yeah, I guess you would be.”

"Mhm.”

“...I’m gonna try it,” Magnus says, pressing his hands to the table, a glint in his eyes.

Taako chokes on his gogurt tea. Splutters, "You’re _what_?”

"I’m gonna try it!” he says again, grinning, and stands. "Right now! I'm gonna heat up some gogurt!”

“... _Why_.”

"Why _not_?”

...Taako can’t argue with that logic. But— "We don’t have any gogurt.”

Magnus deflates. then, brightening. "But we have yogurt!”

"Not key lime.”

“...Well. Do we have limes?”

"We have a grapefruit,” Taako says.

"Well, transmute it, we’ll use that.”

"No can do compadre,” Taako says, casually sticking his hands in his pockets. "Out of spell slots.” Doesn’t add that he’d think twice before transmuting the grapefruit, even if he wasn’t. (Like, he’d do it, probably, but he’d think about it first. Probably.) Cause, like. None of his goddamn business.

"Aw. Well…” Magnus heads over to the cabinets. Opens a couple. "I guess we can try tomorrow then? Cause I—holy _shit_ ,” he says, and reaches deep into a cabinet and then pulls back and holds aloft, like a shining beacon, one single, slightly bruised lime. “ _Taako_.”

Taako blinks at it. "Yeah. That sure is a lime there, bud.”

"It’s a _sign_ , Taako. We’ve _gotta_ do it now.”

"Mags,” Taako says. "Lime. _Lime_ , not sign. I thought I was the one with the bad ears.”

It’s Magnus’s turn to blink. "You have—?”

Oops. "You know what,” Taako says, loudly. "Fuck it. Give it here, we’re doing this.”

"Yeah!” Magnus cheers, shakes his fists a little.

"But you’re making it.”

"Aw.”

"I’ll give you instructions, dumbass. I don’t want you burning down the kitchen.”

"Oh! Okay!”

Taako directs Magnus to the ingredients and begins coaching him through the steps. ("No, you idiot, I said a _dash_ —a _dash_ , is that not fucking clear?” "Now stir the—no, not like that. Or that. Or—have you ever held a spoon in your life.” "Put the heat on l—oh my gods.” "You’re hopeless.” “ _Yes_ , like that. Great, okay, now just—no. Nope. Nuh-uh.” "You’re killing me Mags. Killing me. Killing Taako.”

Merle drifts in when they’re halfway through, and Magnus immediately dares him to drink some, too, and he agrees with a zest that worries Taako, a little bit, but whatever, and then he, too, pulls up a spot and watches, and it’s...well. It’s nice. (Frustrating as Magnus’s ineptitude can be, it’s at least also amusing, which is more than he can say for. Well. Most of the day’s frustration.)

So it’s. It’s nice. Entertaining, y’know?

And the looks on their faces, when they finally drink the heated makeshift key lime gogurt—which looks, by some _miracle_ , actually not bad, for all Magnus’s mistakes—the miracle, of course, being Taako himself, because he’s an _excellent_ teacher— _gods_ , the looks on their faces are _priceless_.

Magnus looks like he's swallowed a muddy lemon. Merle looks extremely confused. Magnus spits his out and scrapes off his tongue with his fingers. Merle frowns down at his cup after the first sip, then shrugs, downs the rest in one, and asks for more, "But spiked this time.”

Taako motions to the booze cabinet, and Merle scuffles off and helps himself. Taako watches as he pours a generous measure of something or other in it and downs it again, like a shot, which. It sort of is now.

Taako grins, motions for the bottle, mixes one himself. Why not.

Magnus, meanwhile, is staring dubiously down at his cup. Tongue still poking out a little. "You _live_ like this?”

"Hell yeah, man. All day, every day.”

Magnus shakes his head. Stares at the cup. Takes a breath, dips his tongue in, and splutters again. " _Gross_.” Then, a moment later, a second dip, a second, " _Gross_.”

Taako laughs. "Oh yeah, keep trying it dude, that’ll—that’ll _deffo_ make it taste better.”

"It might!” Magnus says. "Maybe—maybe it’s an acquired taste.” He tries a full sip, apparently emboldened by his own claim, and his shoulders go all hunch-ways. "Hghgfsdgh,” he says, somehow, out loud, with his mouth.

Taako laughs again. "Hey, listen,” he says, “if you make yourself sick, I'm not cleaning it.”

"Duly noted,” Magnus says, in a voice like he actually might be.

"And I'm not takin care of you, either. You’re on your own.” Sick people are _gross_.

"Wouldn’t expect anything else,” Magnus says, a little clearer. Then he sets the cup down, motions for the booze. "Gimme.”

"Yeah, uh, I don’t think that’s gonna help,” Taako says, but hands it over anyway.

Magnus drowns his fake gogurt in booze, mixes it with a finger (Taako winces internally—now _that’s_ gross), and then takes a hesitant sip, and then makes a delightfully sour face.

Taako nearly drops his cup laughing. "Just—just give it up, Mango.”

"No!” Magnus shakes his head rapidly.

"You’re gonna hurl all over my kitchen, and then you’re not gonna clean it right,” Taako says. "And it’s gonna be _gross_. Just—give it to me, I'll finish it.”

"Or me!” Merle chimes in.

"Nuh-uh,” Magnus says. "I’m gonna. I'm gonna finish it. It was my idea.”

Taako blinks, then says, cheerfully, "Yeahhhh, pretty shitty idea, seems like.”

"Shut up. It was a _genius_ idea.” Magnus eyes his gogurt-booze mix. Closes his eyes. Sips. Sips again. Then drains it, then rushes to the sink and for a moment Taako thinks he really is gonna be sick—but nope, he’s just rinsing the cup and filling it with water and chugging it. And again. And one more time. And then he slams the cup on the counter and breathes. “...Okay,” he says, triumphantly. "I did it.”

Taako claps slowly, sardonically. "Yeah, uh, super well done. Whaddya want, a _medal_?”

"Well, I wouldn’t mind one.” Magnus tilts his head to the side. "The gogurt badge. For acts of gogurty valor!”

Taako rolls his eyes, toasts Magnus sardonically, downs his own drink.

"Now gimme the booze again,” Magnus says, even though he just had it (Taako swears he’d forget his own head if it weren’t attached to his neck).

Taako points this out, and Magnus drinks, and the evening dissolves into chatter and drinks and lime gogurt.

-

When Taako finally crawls into his sleepy sack again, pleasantly buzzed (but not so drunk he’ll feel it in the morning—unlike, he suspects, two other bozos he could name), he considers his hat. Fuckin gorgeous, with all those fancy powders. Maybe he can make them permanent….

-

When he wakes, and wanders to the kitchen, Magnus is drinking the last of the makeshift gogurt.

“...Acquired taste after all, huh?”

"Nah,” Magnus says. "It was just kinda there, y’know? Easy meal.” Another sip. "It’s not bad cold, though.”

“...Fair enough.” And Taako sets about making himself breakfast.

-

Taako walks into the training session fully expecting it to run long—but it doesn’t.

The Director lets them go a little early, actually. He frowns at her, a little suspicious, but there’s no catch, she just waves them off, tells them to come back bright and early the next day, mentions she probably won’t be there in person ("Paperwork,” she says), and then they’re dismissed.

Taako blinks. Peels away from the others, goes and calls Krav.

"Hey,” he says, when the line connects. "Listen, are you free tonight? How bout that dinner….”

**Author's Note:**

> ngl y'all this one, uh. this one got away from me a lil bit. (three guesses where exactly That happened lmao)  
> (alsooo my aro ass ain't know how to write dates, so i hope the bit w/krav was like. suitably romo? ish?)


End file.
